Lethally Silent
by steelfeather1776
Summary: Isabella, a modern-day Assassin with a dark past, finds herself in Renaissance Italy, with only vague memories of her past and an inability to make a sound. Unable to understand the language, she stumbles into a fledgling Assassin named Ezio and her life changes forever. ExioxOC, trigger warnings for sexual abuse and attempted rape. M for later lemons. Enjoy!
1. Prologue

"What were you doing out so late, Isabella?" My mother stood next to the lamp she had just turned on, arms crossed menacingly.

Shit. I had made too much noise coming in through my bedroom window. I decided to try and play it off.

"I was out with friends. I was just trying not to wake you up by coming in this way."

She stepped towards me. "Your curfew is still ten o'clock on school nights, young lady. Or it will be, in a month when you're not grounded anymore."

"Mom!"

"Don't even try that with me, Isabella Christina Diavolos. This is the third time I've caught you sneaking in in the past two weeks. And I don't know who you're out with, since all your old friends tell me you've stopped speaking to them. Are you running with a bad crowd? Doing drugs?"

"Of course not!" I protested hotly. "If you think so badly of me, you should just drug test me already."

"Make no mistake: Next time I will." She turned and swept out of the room, leaving me stunned. I couldn't believe my own mother had so little faith in me, but I suppose I had brought it on myself. I wasn't exactly allowed to tell her about the Brotherhood. An Assassin should be discreet, and my mother would never keep the secret. More importantly, enemies of the Brotherhood couldn't extract any information from her.

I knew I was young to be an Assassin at only seventeen. The others averaged between twenty-five and thirty years old, and the youngest in the organization, other than myself, was twenty-two. My age had proved to be a tactical advantage, however; Templars never seemed to suspect the smaller-than-average high school girl.

I sighed and punched my pillow in frustration, all thoughts of sleep long banished by the confrontation. I wanted to tell her why I had become so secretive, I really did. It just wasn't possible.

I strode forcefully into my adjoining bathroom, stopping to examine my reflection for a moment. I was a scarce 4'11", which had resulted in infinite teasing until the past couple of years when my classmates matured a little bit. I was very thin, but had pleasing curves. My hair was straight, thick, and a glossy black, sweeping down to my hips like a crow's wing. The bones of my face were naturally delicate and angular, with full rosy lips and bright blue eyes. My skin was a clear, almost translucent ivory, the veins underneath standing out as a stark blueish contrast. The only thing that seemed out of place was the dark raised scar on the left side of my face, forming a thick crescent shape which began about an inch above the middle of my eyebrow and wrapped around the edge of my face to end half an inch above my jaw, halfway to my mouth. My father had given it to me two years ago.

My father had always been somewhat abusive for as long as I could remember, addicted to alcohol and drugs. When I turned twelve, he… changed. He stopped hitting my mom, and shifted his focus to me. A very different form of abuse began.

It was my greatest shame and worst regret that I didn't do anything to stop him when he came to my room after Mom was asleep. He told me that he'd hurt her if I said anything, but I still should have tried to resist. I should have done something, anything, to prevent his violation of my young body and soul. But I didn't.

If I hoped he would grow bored of me, I was wrong. On the contrary, he visited more and more often, then started slipping sleeping pills into my mother's food so that she wouldn't wake up while he was raping me. I suspect this was partly because he had become more violent, and I was unable to keep myself from screaming anymore. It hurt. God, it hurt. There was no part of me he didn't brand with his filth.

On my fifteenth birthday, he tried to rape me with a large aluminum baseball bat, but I was waiting with a painstakingly sharpened kitchen knife. I managed to land a shallow slash across his chest, but he wrestled the knife away from me and carved into my face, laughing at my agonized shrieks. Unexpectedly, my mother walked into the room, roused from her drug-addled sleep by some protective maternal instinct. My father turned on her, and in that moment, I swore I saw the devil in him. He leapt on her and started choking the life from her.

I blacked out. The next thing I remember was standing over my father's corpse, covered in blood, holding the knife. He was viciously slashed open dozens of times, and my mother told the police in her statement that I had done all of the damage. To keep me from being committed to an institution, she also told the cops that he was still fighting to the end, so I was acting in self-defense, as well as protecting her. After the hospital turned in my rape kit results, no one was interested in pressing charges against me.

The Assassins came to visit me while I was in the hospital. They offered me a mission, a purpose. I gratefully accepted, and started my training the day I was released by the doctor.

My mother had been told about the signs of long-term sexual abuse all over my body, but I don't think she wanted to face that reality. She turned to work, alcohol, and partying with a vengeance, anything that could make her forget. So until about three months previously, she hadn't really noticed my secret extracurricular activities. I supposed she was trying to make up for her lack of parenting earlier in my life by cracking down on me all of a sudden.

I couldn't have given up my place in the Brotherhood, regardless. The past two years would have killed me if I hadn't been an Assassin; the whispers of _whore_ and _murderer_ , the judgmental stares, bathroom wall writings, and outright propositions, the teachers and guidance counselors who kept asking me to talk about it. I didn't want to talk, I wanted to _act,_ and I had found the one place where I could. I discovered myself in the long hours of grueling training, learning how to gracefully and effectively free-run, climb, and use my environment to my advantage, disappearing under the enemy's very nose. I learned how to fight and kill with almost every weapon imaginable, from the traditional hidden blade to modern firearms. I'd be hard-pressed to find a weapon I wasn't familiar with. I had taken down half a dozen targets by myself already, inspiring jealousy and grudging respect in my older counterparts.

This was getting me nowhere, I decided. I was going back out again, and my mother couldn't stop me. I turned and slipped out the window, dropping to the ground below in a crouch. I did look back at my second-story window once, a bit guiltily, but what I was doing was for the greater good. Mommy dearest just didn't understand.


	2. Beware of Apples

The man was sweating visibly, my hidden blade held firmly against his carotid artery. I gazed up at him with no expression on my face, using the full force of my unnervingly cold eyes.

"I swear, I don't know where they keep it!" He was lying, I knew. I could feel his pulse change every time he said it. I pressed my blade in just enough to nick the skin, and he broke.

"Okay, okay! I'll tell you, just… let me go after." I nodded. As soon as he disclosed the location, I put him out of his misery quickly and painlessly. I hadn't exactly lied; after all, I had let him go… to his afterlife.

I knew I should contact a few other Assassins before going after the Apple of Eden, but I was feeling keyed-up and a little bit reckless, so I took a cab to the abandoned-looking warehouse the Templar sentry had pointed me to. After scouting out the building, I knew I had my work cut out for me.

Three guards patrolled discreetly outside, while eight more waited inside. I found a handy spot on the back of the warehouse and scaled up it, slipping through a cracked window near the top of the building and landing lightly on a railing. In cases like these, my diminutive size was an advantage.

It all went much easier than I had allowed myself to hope. I used a handgun with a suppressor to take out six of them, then leapt down onto the last two, using both of my hidden blades to kill them simultaneously. But I should have realized just how tricky the Templars are.

I heard three slow claps behind me and whirled around to face a tall, dark-haired man in a suit. He held a .45 caliber handgun in his right hand, and the Apple of Eden in his left, giving off a faint golden glow. I felt a strange pull towards the Apple, and I almost extended my right hand towards it involuntarily before I knew what I was doing.

He took advantage of my distraction and started shooting. I dodged sideways, but felt two bullets strike home, one rather harmlessly grazing my ribs, and the other lodging in my abdomen, barely missing my lungs and other vital organs. I ignored the pain with an effort and rolled under his line of fire, coming up under his chin and thrusting a hidden blade into his throat. Arterial blood sprayed out all over me, and he choked and gurgled, indicating I had made a ruin of his windpipe.

I felt a warm glow through my entire body, and looked down to see the Apple in my right hand. I couldn't remember grabbing it, but something about it felt… right. Until I realized I couldn't let go, that is. I felt my left hand gravitating toward it, but I couldn't stop myself somehow.

As soon as both of my hands were on the Apple, I found myself surrounded by golden light, floating in it. I heard disconnected voices swirling around me.

" _A gift of silence for you, my daughter…"_

" _Use it well…"_

" _His salvation will be your own."_

Something intangible settled over me like a blanket, choking me for a moment before it vanished. In its place, pain crashed over me in a wave, my gunshot wounds making themselves known. I felt cobblestones under my bare feet, then blinked into bright daylight and got the shock of my life.

I was in an alley, surrounded by tall buildings. The architecture was old, in some timeless, Italian style. I looked down at myself, noting that I still had my double hidden blades; I was missing my other weapons, my hoodie, and, strangely enough, my shoes.

My confusion was growing by the minute; the harder I tried to remember where I was, the less I knew, until I couldn't remember where I was even from. I knew I was an Assassin, but I couldn't remember much else. I strained to remember my name, and finally heard it like a whisper through my mind. _Isabella._

I sighed in frustration, then noticed something odd. I couldn't hear my breath being expelled. I tried again, with a heavier sigh. I still heard nothing. Had I gone deaf? No, I could hear people shouting in some language I didn't understand, though I caught enough to realize it was Italian. I tried speaking, but no sound emerged from my mouth. I stomped on the ground, almost hard enough to bruise my foot, but still nothing. Then I tried to scream. Still silent.

I tried not to panic, but I was definitely freaking out. Why couldn't I make a sound? It was as if I was a ghost. I was still bleeding pretty badly as well, which didn't help matters. I clutched my abdomen, trying to slow the bleeding, and walked a bit unsteadily toward the open street, where I could see people moving around in odd, Renaissance-fair clothes.

Before I reached it, however, a greasy-looking man with a sword strapped to his hip stepped in front of me, his eyes roving over my body. He said something in Italian that sounded super inappropriate, and I caught the word _puttana,_ which I thought might mean _bitch_ or _whore._ I stepped away from him, but he followed me, and four more men crowded after him, their eyes alight with interest. They backed me up against the alley wall before I realized it, reaching out towards my body. I managed to slit one throat, but they apparently learned their lesson, because the remaining four grabbed at my hands and legs, pinning me. Someone punched me in the solar plexus, causing an indescribable wave of agony. I felt a large hand groping roughly at my breast, trying to get underneath my skimpy tank top and bra, and something felt sickeningly familiar about it.

Suddenly I felt eyes on me, and my head snapped up to meet an amber gaze. A young man in elaborate, old-fashioned Assassin garb had paused upon seeing my situation, and as we locked eyes, I heard two faint voices in my head.

 _Assassin,_ one said.

 _Ezio Auditore,_ whispered the other.

That was the last thing I heard before darkness and pain claimed me.

 **Translations:**

 _Puttana -_ bitch


	3. A Complication Arises

Ezio ran blindly away from the shouts and threats, lost in a sea of anger, grief, and numbness. He had just seen his father and brothers murdered, and it was beginning to sink in. He saw an opportunity to duck into a narrow alleyway and swerved sharply, not expecting to find it already occupied.

Four men were close to the wall, laughing cruelly as they fumbled at some small object in front of them. A fifth man lay dead a few feet away, his blood spreading into a morbid pool on the cobblestones. It was only when one of the men spoke in an urgent, low tone that Ezio realized there was another person in the alley.

"Hold her still, I'm almost there," he said harshly. "We can take turns."

A wave of horror and disgust washed through Ezio when he realized they were trying to rape a girl. One of the men shifted a little, trying to get a better angle, and Ezio found himself looking straight into a pair of piercing blue eyes.

Her eyes were somewhere in between the color of a cold winter sky and bright cornflowers. Those eyes burned a path straight to his soul, locking him in place. She was tiny, the size of a child, though she looked almost like an adult. She was bleeding, dark red blood soaking through her strangely revealing tunic at the waist and dripping to the ground. Though she was being molested, her gaze was clear and strong, and her defiant spirit shined brightly through her eyes. She wasn't asking him for help with those eyes. No, she was saying that nothing could break her, not even this atrocity.

The girl's eyes suddenly rolled back in her head, and she sagged in the arms of the _feccia_ holding her. They gave excited cries and redoubled their efforts to strip her clothes off. Ezio shook himself out of the strange trance he had entered and advanced towards them. He was unarmed, but there was no way he could leave her to this group of _bastardi._

He took out the man who was pulling at her odd attire first, choking him from behind until he fell unconscious. Before he could even drop him, the other three attacked, and Ezio had to really work to keep the fight quiet. He didn't want the city guards to find him after all his trouble to hide. It took a few moments to drop the last three men, and Ezio had to take a few hits first. His lip was bleeding, and bruises were already forming on his left cheekbone and all over his ribs.

After the last _coglione_ hit the ground, Ezio went to the strange girl. She was still breathing, but her midsection was soaked in blood, and it showed no sign of stopping. He noticed that she was wearing a tight tunic which showed off her pale arms and the tops of her breasts, her forearms were cased in devices which looked a bit like the broken one he had taken from his father's study, and she had on some form of men's trousers which were very tight around her slim legs. She had long, blue-black hair in a tight braid starting at the crown of her head and extending to her curved, womanly hips. Ezio had only seen the hairstyle when studying ancient Greek history. Her face had a large scar on it, and he wondered what had happened. The mark did not make her ugly; indeed, it deepened an already interesting allure.

He hesitantly shook her shoulder, trying to rouse her. When she only stirred a little, he mentally apologized to the young _bella ragazza_ before slapping her across the face, hard.

She bolted upright, her mouth open in a silent scream, pain twisting her pretty face. When she turned to him with suspicious caution in her captivating eyes, he took a step back, holding his hands up to show that he meant her no harm.

" _Stai bene?"_ he asked. She merely cocked her head questioningly. _"Si sta sanguinando molto."_ She just kept looking at him, and he began to wonder if she was insane, though he had never seen such a pretty _matto donna_ before.

"You should go to a _dottore,_ " he told her, pointing towards the street. When she didn't move, he huffed in exasperation and turned away, heading towards the place where he knew his mother and sister were. After a moment, he looked back and almost jumped out of his skin. The _piccola_ was right behind him!

" _Merda!"_ he exclaimed. A hint of a smile graced her feminine lips as she appraised him, still tightly holding her bleeding torso.

Was she mocking him? He scowled. "Stay put," he told her sternly. Then he turned and began to scale the nearest wall, seeking high ground to move more quickly. He needed to find Annetta and make sure his remaining family was safe.

When he was almost to the meeting point, he felt a disturbance in the air behind him and whirled around, concerned that a guard was trailing him. Instead, he found himself looking at the silent girl again. She looked even paler than before, if that was possible, and she swayed on her feet, but her eyes sparked with determination, and she jutted her sharp little chin out at him defiantly. He almost chuckled despite himself.

Ezio knelt down so that his face was more on a level with hers and gently pried at her arms. After a moment, she reluctantly unwrapped them from around her abdomen, and he had to restrain a gasp when he saw the damage.

She was still bleeding heavily, so it was hard to make everything out. He grasped the hem of her tunic and began to peel it upwards. Her hands fluttered uncertainly, and then she put them to her sides with a visible effort. He continued pulling it up until it was just below her breasts, then stopped for modesty's sake.

She had a large hole near the middle of her torso with ragged edges, and he could see something metal glinting inside the wound. Ezio had never seen a weapon that could create such an injury. On her right side was a shallow slice which wasn't bleeding as badly. Neither wound looked good, however, and Ezio wasn't a _dottore,_ so he worried that he might do more harm than good if he tried to mend her.

As he contemplated what to do next, she caught sight of the metal inside her body. Her eyes widened, and before Ezio could stop her, she reached inside the wound with small, nimble fingers, grimacing at the pain. Within two seconds, she had pulled a crumpled-up little ball of metal out, tossing it carelessly onto the rooftop.

Ezio was speechless. He had never seen such a brave—or perhaps foolish—woman. He stared at her incredulously.

Suddenly, she lunged past him, arm outstretched. He heard the sound of a blade slicing into flesh and turned quickly.

A huge guard stood over him, death already beginning to glaze his eyes. The girl was underneath him, her right hand pressed up against his chest. Ezio saw the gleam of metal extending from her wrist and into the guard, and then she pulled a long, thin blade out of the man, pressing a small button on the device on her forearm as she did. The blade retracted smoothly, without a sound. The guard's body fell heavily to the roof's surface. The entire thing barely took a second's time.

" _Dios mio,"_ Ezio murmured. "You continue to surprise me, _piccola."_

She simply stared at him blankly for a moment, clearly not understanding what he had said. A sudden flash of inspiration lit his mind. Her pale skin and strange clothes… "You don't speak Italian, do you?"

For the second time in half an hour, Ezio watched her eyes roll back in her head and flutter closed. He barely managed to catch her up in his arms before she fell. She was quite light, and felt even daintier than before now that he held her. One of his hands could easily span her entire torso. He listened for her breathing, then pressed the side of his face to her chest, trying to hear her heartbeat. Nothing. If her chest hadn't been faintly rising and falling, he would have thought her dead. He straightened again and strode toward a ladder that led to the ground, unable to just leave her in her condition.

Light though she was, he still had a hard time descending the ladder. He had to shift her to lay over his shoulder, and he hoped he wasn't further aggravating the injuries she had sustained. Once he was safely on the ground, he cradled her in his arms once more, quickly covering the distance to Annetta's sister Paola's residence.

Annetta showed him an empty room in the brothel where she said the girl could recover and sent for a _dottore_. Ezio stood above the bed for a moment, looking down at her, and then sighed.

"I have a feeling you are going to make things very complicated for me, _piccola,_ " he said. But a small, reluctant smile tugged at his lips as he did so.

 **Translations:**

 _Feccia –_ scum

 _Bastardi –_ bastards

 _Bella ragazza –_ beautiful girl

 _Stai bene? –_ Are you alright?

 _Si sta sanguinando molto –_ You are bleeding a lot

 _Matto donna –_ crazy woman

 _Dottore –_ doctor

 _Piccola –_ little one

 _Merda –_ shit

 _Dios mio –_ my God 


	4. Where Am I?

The first thing I felt was a bone-numbing cold. My entire body felt positively steeped in it. Next, I realized that I was wrapped tightly in some sort of thick fabric. I smelled strong perfume, silk, and the unmistakable scent of sex.

Where was I? What was happening? It was dim, the only light coming from the crack under a door off to my right. I felt stifled and constrained, like a corpse in a burial shroud. I flailed off the bed and stood, kicking away what I assumed was a woolen blanket. It was then that I realized two things: my body was throbbing with intense pain, and I was naked.

There was nothing on my body except for some linen cloth wrapped around my midsection. When I put my fingers to it, they came away sticky with my blood. I could feel cool air on my bare skin, and I shivered.

I began to remember bits of what had happened to me. I had been wounded… somehow. A word, _bullet,_ came to mind, but I wasn't sure what it meant. Then those men had tried to rape me, I had passed out, and woken up looking at… _Ezio._ Somehow, he felt important. I shook my head back and forth. I had followed him, sure that I was supposed to stay by his side. After that, it all got a bit fuzzy.

Where was he? I wondered. I listened, but I couldn't hear the rich timbre of his voice anywhere close by. Instead, I heard feminine giggles and moans, male gasps, grunts, and deep, arrogant chuckles. I was in some sort of brothel, I surmised.

As my eyes adjusted to the low light, I examined my surroundings. I was in a small, rather plain bedroom. There was a bed, mussed from me sleeping in it, a small dresser which I discovered was mostly empty, and a side table with a few items on it. The dresser only had a couple of large, flowy men's tunics in it, no belts with them. I picked the one that had far less smell and slipped it on. It appeared to be a dark blue, and it dwarfed me, reaching the bottoms of my knees and nearly exposing my nipples with every breath, but it was better than no clothes at all. On the side table, I found a bowl with cold, bloody water in it and a soiled rag that had probably been used to wash out the hole I could feel burning in my midsection. I felt my way around the walls and located a window, but it had no latch or means of opening it, and it was firmly anchored into the wall. There was no way of escape there. I pulled back the curtains, however, and a little more light came in, revealing that dawn was close by.

I examined the entire room carefully, but my hidden blades were nowhere to be found. A crawling sensation began in between my shoulder blades. Was I being held as a prisoner? The one door in the room appeared to be latched shut from the outside.

If this was a prison, it seemed a fairly strange one. Who would hold someone in a whorehouse? And why had they taken my clothes?

I heard footsteps approaching the door and quickly stepped behind it to conceal myself. There was nothing in the room I could really use as a weapon, aside from strangling someone with my bedsheets. Besides, I wanted to see if they posed a threat to me before I killed anyone.

The door swung open slowly, accompanied by the sound of feminine humming. A young woman in a very revealing dress stepped through, carrying some sort of tray. Before she could close the door behind her or notice that I wasn't in the bed, I got her in a sleeper hold and gently rode her down to the floor, my eyes turned to the open door. No one was in sight, so I examined the contents of her tray, now somewhat scattered on the floor. There was a clay jug of water, a small loaf of bread, a hunk of cheese, and an apple. My stomach chose that very moment to remind me that it was empty, so I quickly scarfed down half of everything and downed a good portion of the water. I had no pockets or way of carrying the rest of it, so I left it in the room. The girl was still breathing steadily, but I knew she would come around soon, so I slipped out of the room and latched the door behind me, intent on escaping the building before anyone knew what had happened.

I stuck to the shadows as I crept through the brothel, using every sense to avoid detection. There were very few people moving around due to the early hour, and I cursed my luck. It would have been easier to get out during the night, when a house of ill repute was bound to be busy.

I found only one door, all the windows having been built like the one in the room I had woken up in. As I moved eagerly toward it, however, a woman stepped in front of it, holding my hidden blades in one hand casually.

She was tall, dark-haired and statuesque. To most observers, she would simply look like a beautiful mistress in a dark red dress, but I sensed it. She was deadly, like a coiled spring. No amount of lace or makeup could hide it from me. I stood as tall as I was able and looked her straight in the eyes.

" _̕E cos̕i che ripaghi la mia ospitalita̕?"_ She looked almost amused, but I knew she was waiting for me to make a move, any move. I eyed my weapons in her hand, feeling naked without them. She noticed the trajectory of my gaze and held them a bit higher, not quite offering them to me. It was as if she was trying to offer a treat to an unruly horse.

I was irritated with this entire situation. Who was this woman? Why had she locked me in a room and taken my weapons? Another wave of cold assaulted me, and my teeth chattered silently. Her eyes narrowed shrewdly, and she stepped towards me. A mistake.

In my pained state, I was bound to see any action on her part as threatening. I fought past the pain and cold and launched myself at her, determined to get out any way I could. I needed to find Ezio.

 **Translations:**

 _̕E cos̕i che ripaghi la mia ospitalita̕? –_ This is how you repay my hospitality?


	5. Wild Woman

Ezio had had a rough couple of days. Between the strange girl, killing Uberto Alberti, and having to escape the city watch, _again,_ he was exhausted. And he still hadn't told Claudia and Maria about everything that had happened. He wasn't looking forward to it.

They would need to leave, he knew. Though he had bought a little time with his antics, the Auditore family had powerful enemies who wished to see them all dead. Ezio had already decided they should flee the country. He remembered hearing all about Spain, and he thought it might be a good place to start over. It would take time, but he believed Claudia could move on, perhaps marry someone and have his children. He hoped that his mother would heal as well, but he was prepared to take care of her for the rest of her life, if that was what it took.

The injured girl would probably have to stay in Firenze. He knew she likely had a family somewhere, and he wouldn't take her away from that. He hoped she was healing well; the _dottore_ had said he would do all he could for her, but Ezio knew that the wound had been deep. He decided that he would check on her before leaving for Monteriggioni.

Upon reaching the door of Paola's brothel, Ezio raised his hand to knock, but heard strange noises from just behind the door. Scuffling, thumping. Instinctively, he burst into the room. What he saw there would have tested the patience of a saint.

The girl he had saved was wrapped around Paola's body like a monkey, her arms wrapped tightly around her throat, her front pressed firmly to Paola's back. Her legs were locked in a death hold around Paola's waist, and Paola's eyes were fluttering shut. As soon as she went limp, the girl gracefully let go and rose to her feet, grabbing some kind of bundle from the floor next to Paola. Upon closer examination, Ezio realized that the object was, in fact, the two hidden blades she had been wearing when he first saw her. She quickly strapped them onto her forearms as he stood, openmouthed, in the doorway.

He suddenly noticed what she was wearing, which turned out not to be much. Nothing but a long, loose blue shirt, leaving her shapely legs bare from the knees down. It had a very large, open collar, letting him see a good deal of her breasts, and when she turned towards him, he saw even more. Probably more than she would have wanted him to see, so he schooled his expression into something vaguely stern.

When she saw him, something shifted in her face, so that she looked somehow more vulnerable and yet more stubborn than ever. She walked toward him a little unsteadily, and he remembered that she had been hurt. He pointed at her stomach with a questioning expression, and she laid a protective hand over it. When he stepped closer, he noticed that though she had sweat on her brow, she was shivering. Her bright blue eyes were glassy, her gaze not as focused as before. He laid a hand on her forehead gently, and she leaned into the touch like a kitten. She was burning up. Ezio's brow furrowed; the girl had a bad fever.

He tried to point towards the stairs leading up to the room she had been in, but her eyes widened and she shook her head. Now Ezio was truly curious to see what had happened. He stooped to check on Paola, who turned out to be breathing steadily, though she had started to stir already. Then he turned to walk up the stairs, noting that the girl glided to his right side instantly and followed behind him. At the top of the stairs, he unlatched the door— _why had it been locked?—_ and found a scared and furious courtesan inside.

"She is nothing more than a little animal!" the girl shouted, advancing on the two with murder in her eyes. Before Ezio could do anything, the silent girl stood between them, looking far more menacing than her stature should have allowed. The courtesan recoiled and made the sign of the cross with shaking hands.

"Perhaps you should go check on Paola," Ezio told her, not unkindly.

"That won't be necessary," the woman in question said from behind him. She swept into the room, looking only a little rumpled. "Rosa, you may go. Let me know if you need money for a doctor." The girl nodded and practically ran out. Ezio was left with two rather frightening women who eyed each other speculatively.

Paola abruptly laughed, causing Ezio to jump a bit and the girl to narrow her eyes. "You will have your hands full with this little demon," she told him with no small amount of amusement.

"Why would I take her with me?" he asked.

"But of course you will! It's obvious that she has much in common with your family," Paola said. "Just look at her blades. They are almost perfect copies of the one Giovanni left for you. Besides," she continued, "you will not have to _take_ her with you. She clearly does not _want_ to leave your side. Why else would she have hurt poor Rosa and fought me to reach you?"

Before Ezio could think about the situation, he saw the girl start to sway on her feet. He dove forward and caught her as her knees buckled, and her arms circled his shoulders, perhaps out of instinct only. He couldn't deny that a part of him liked it, but he could feel the heat radiating from her diminutive body. He quickly laid her back against the pillows and made to leave, but as soon as he pulled away, she tried to get up and follow him.

Ezio motioned her back and she shook her head, a stubborn set to her jaw. He began to walk out of the room and she staggered out of the bed, shivering violently. He turned to Paola with a bewildered look on his face.

"Ezio, you must stay with her and nurse the fever away," she told him. "It will only make her worse if she follows you around, and clearly we cannot stop her. Stay with her."

He sighed and crossed the room to the girl, intending only to gently lay her back on the bed, but when he got close enough, she turned her head into his chest and stepped into him, their bodies touching as his formed a cradle for her. She rubbed herself on him a little bit, clearly seeking his body heat and probably unaware she was even doing it. Ezio bit back a groan and lowered her to the bed, then laid next to her. She snuggled into him, and he instinctively wrapped her in his arms, pulling the back of her body into the front of his own. Within moments, she had drifted off to sleep, her chest rising and falling, slow and steady.

Ezio found the situation a bit bizarre. Not the part where he was in bed, holding a beautiful woman, but that he had not had sex with her first. He did not make a habit of _cuddling_.

After a moment, he began to wonder why not. The girl felt perfect against him, so small and delicate. It took an effort of will to not let his hands wander. He didn't even notice when Paola left the room, a knowing smirk on her face.

Not a quarter of an hour had passed before Ezio fell asleep with a strange girl in his arms, a faint smile etched on his face.

 **Translations:**

 _Dottore –_ doctor


End file.
